Libertas Et Prudentia De Lumen
by The Shadowy Phantom
Summary: SPOILERS FOR AWE! James Norrington resides in a little place called Purgatory, and has ever since his murder. In order to ascend to heaven, he needs to find redemption. Minor swearing.


It all began with that wretched Jack Sparrow - no, wait - _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. If it wasn't for him, well, I would not be writing this, my final testament, _post-mortem_. You might be wondering who I am, so allow me this opportunity to introduce myself; my name is - was - James Norrington. I was a seaman, a commodore, a fallen man, and finally, an admiral. Now, I am nothing more than a shade; a mere memory in the minds of a precious few. How on Earth did I come to my demise? As I have stated before, it was all due to that horrendous scallywag, Sparrow. Had he not stepped foot upon Port Royal's shores, why, I might be married now, to a fine woman . . .But enough of that. I can no more change the past than I can resurrect myself. I should tell you, dear readers, how I came to my demise.

I trust that you, dear readers, know how I fell from glory, and how I had "redeemed" myself, so therefore I shan't condemn you all to boredom with that tale. After I had delivered the heart of Davy Jones to Lord Cutler Beckett (who was a vile man, and made my flesh crawl), the blackguard then placed the Flying Dutchman under my watchful eye; he also promoted me to the rank of admiral, stating with the utmost pomposity that I had "contributed to the safety of every man, woman, and child upon the Caribbean Sea." Personally, I believed the whole speech to be nothing more than verbal diarrhea coming from a bloated dwarf; I know for certain that Beckett did not mean a single word of it, as he had just given the orders to hang no less than ten children.

After the miniature Genghis Khan had brought me back to the bosom of the King, he sent the Flying Dutchman to raid various merchant ships from countries such as France. This, of course, was immoral, as the merchant ships we attacked were _very_ sparingly armed, having no more than a dozen guns or so; however, whatever that pompous git wanted, he made sure that he would get it.

At first, I believed the crew of the Flying Dutchman were deformed monstrosities, blights upon humanity that should be stamped out. However, as I came to spend more time with them, I understood that they were once men; and as they were once _homo sapiens_, they had emotions. These emotions were not only limited to anger or twisted pleasure, but also pain, regret, and genuine contentment. A game they enjoyed playing was called _Liar's Dice_. It was a bluffing game, and the wages were years of service to the Dutchman. These creatures not only served the Dutchman, but they held . . . _lives_ . . . apart from the Dutchman; granted, their lives were spent in the bowels of a leaky ship, and they mostly fed on the despair of others, but they lived . . .

One crew member in particular stood out from the rest; the former captain, Davy Jones. When first I laid eyes on him, I merely placed him with the rest of the rabble. I thought no more of him than of the other souls damned to that damp hell. However, during a thunderstorm a few nights after that day, I heard the creaking of the floor boards in the cabin that was formerly Jones'. Out of a mixture of curiosity and fear, I opened one eye to find that Jones had crept by the bed, and was heading for the organ which occupied a quarter of the cabin. I then saw him reach one tentacle out for a necklace of sorts, and he hastily shoved the item into his animate beard. He caressed the keys of the organ, and gently pressed down on a few to produce a gentle chord. I, most unfortunately, had a pressing urge to sneeze; and, being unable to contain it any longer, made such a racket that I am sure every crew member was woken up. Jones then turned a horrified eye on me, and quickly limped out of the cabin.

A week or so had passed before we came upon the _Empress_, which was captained by one of the pirate lords, Sao Feng. We easily overtook her and, much to my surprise and eternal regret, captured and imprisoned the crew, including Elizabeth Swann. Before I learned she became a pirate captain, I was overwhelmed with relief and joy, as I had never stopped loving her after my fashion. Even after I learned she became captain of the _Empress_, I was ready to accept her. However, she did not smile, or show any emotion; she was cold, and implied that my morals were hardly up to scratch. I then felt defeated, bitter, and crestfallen; I had known in some part of my mind that I was dishonorable for deceiving my comrades. Yet, I attempted to rationalize why I had stolen away the heart; I believed myself wronged, and that Sparrow and Turner deserved to march to the gallows. For all my reasoning, however, I was forced to open my eyes to the truth; if I did not do something, all that I held dear would wither and die under the control of Beckett.

I silently crept down to the brig, where the crew of the _Empress _was being detained. I opened the doors to the cells, and ushered the crew up to where the line connecting the two ships together was. Everyone, save Elizabeth, crawled along the line to safety. Elizabeth, God bless her, tried to persuade me to come. However, before I could utter a syllable, Turner's father fixed his eyes upon me. And, much to my horror, had brought his fellow crew members up as well.

I recall very little after this; I do remember that I urged Elizabeth to go, and I shot the rope connecting the two ships. Then, there was an extraordinary amount of pain which centered around my abdomen. I fell to my knees, and my last earthly sight was of the stars and of the Dutchman's crew, both looming overhead.

Now, after recounting my tale, I can rest in some semblance of peace. I suppose not all of my suffering was due to Sparrow, but rather, due to my actions and Fate. I hoped that I made some small, positive change in Elizabeth's life, but I do not know for certain whether or not she survived the ordeal. I have been waiting here, in Purgatory, for what seems like ages, and I haven't the foggiest as to what may have happened. I can only hope and pray that all went well, and that I may be allowed to enter through the gates of St. Peter.

**Epilogue**

_A few months have passed since Norrington wrote (through some means or another) his account. Down on Earth, somewhere in the Caribbean, a blonde-haired woman is kneeling near a bed, and she appears to be praying. _

"Dear God, I realize I may not be a particularly devout woman, but I hope that you listen to my invocation all the same. I pray that you keep my unborn son safe while he is still developing, and I pray that Will is kept safe in all his adventures. Please, allow my father to rest in peace, and please, give James the serenity he was unable to find on Earth. He was a good man, and he allowed me to escape the Dutchman unscathed. He let Jack Sparrow go, and he was always honorable in his intentions, if not in his deeds. He deserved better than death at his age, so I ask that you grant him the honor he so sorely deserves."

_Meanwhile, James is wandering through a blank landscape. He cannot find any rest nor peace. Suddenly, there is a bright flash, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself at his house in Port Royal. Governor Swann, Lt. Gillette, and a stocky man with wild, red hair are seated at a table. _

"Well, look who finally arrived! Commodore Norrington!" Swann cheerfully exclaimed.

James glanced confusedly at the men smiling up at him. He didn't know what in the bloody hell was going on, but damned if he wasn't going to find out . . .

"Good . . . morning? Might I inquire as to our whereabouts? And why did you address me as 'Commodore' Governor Swann?"

Gillette grinned and replied, "Time is immaterial here, sir, and as to our whereabouts . . . we are in heaven. As to your third inquiry, well, we thought that 'Commodore' sounded far better than 'Admiral,' as that rank was gifted to you by no more than a pompous ass."

"Oh . . . all right then . . . but who on Earth is that fellow sitting next to you, Gillette?"

The stocky man smirked, and replied in a heavy Scottish accent, "What? Ye cannae' remember me Commodore? Well, I neva'."

James paled, and, for an instant, froze. He snapped out of his paralysis, and croaked, "Captain Jones? Good God man! Is that you?"

Swann butted in by saying, "Well, I do believe we can better acquaint ourselves over tea, wouldn't you agree Commodore?"

As James looked at the three exceedingly content men, he decided that he'd do exactly as the governor suggested, and that he'd contemplate the workings of the universe another time.


End file.
